Alexander Scott Michaels

SERGEANT ALEXANDER SCOTT MICHAELS



Real Name: Alexander Scott Michaels


Alias: "Malefic" Mike


Title: Chewed Up and Spit Out


Identity: Public


Age: 28


Species: Human (Augmented)


Physical Appearance: 
Standing at a tall 6'4" and weighing 350lbs(mostly metal), Mike is certainly someone who looks as tough as he is. As a matter of fact, It'll be better for him to explain.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you're looking at a man who is much more attractive than the average schlub you see walking up and down the streets every day. Feel free to stop and stare, but don't forget to pick your jaws up off the floor. My smooth wavy hair enough to make you lose yourself if you attempt to stroke my head. Gaze into my chocolate eyes, and you'll disappear into a sweet abyss you won't want to escape until I blink, breaking that spell. My strong jawline is sharp enough to cut diamonds, and my full lips are perfectly suited to being pressed against yours. If you ask nicely, I'm sure you'll get the full experience.

Moving down you'll see a body sculpted perfectly like a bronze statue that itching to burst out of any clothing I wear if I sneeze a little too hard. Try to shield your eyes, because the sunlight reflected off of me may be too much for them to handle. If you go blind, then you'd be denied the pleasure of seeing me. Feel free to touch all you want, as long as you stay above the belt. Any lower, and I may charge you. 

Speaking of lower, I've got some junk in my trunk for sure. I could crush a ripe peach between these cheeks, and destroy a watermelon between these thighs. Don't believe me? No problem, I'll show y-"

You get the idea. Please don't entertain him.


Personality: 
In a stark contrast to his outward appearance, Mike is actually extremely easy to approach and pleasant to speak with when pressed. He won't act rude or self important to those who manage to get him talking, but he rarely thinks before speaking. This often manifests itself as him consistently putting his foot firmly into his mouth on more than one occasion. Being a member of the military, his brand of humor can get a little too dark for most who can't relate. If allowed to drone on for far too long about his thoughts and opinions on certain topics, or even people, he has a nasty habit of accidentally offending those unable to stomach his particular kind of conversation.

When alone, however, Mike can be far too critical of himself and what he's done in his life. As an ordinary man thrust into extraordinary situations, he finds it hard to truly open up and talk to people about what's really going on in that head of his. He often hides it behind a wide grin and crude joke, but those who manage to crack him open will find that he's much more vulnerable than he lets on.

Through his career, he's lost a lot of people he called his brothers and sisters. He's been forced to watch as they were torn to shreds before his eyes and keep fighting in order to ensure that he wouldn't lose anyone else. He's seen firsthand what it's like to hear people scream in both terror and agony while forces too great for them to possibly understand tear indiscriminately through cities. Men, women, children, it didn't matter how old they were or what they looked like. If given the order, he simply did what was necessary. 

He often spends hours sitting alone in his quarters, laying face up to stare at the ceiling and think about all that he's seen and done. When it gets to be too much, he reaches for the six shooter in his dresser drawer, puts one in the chamber, and spins the barrel before sticking it between his teeth, "Too scared to do it right." is how he justifies himself every time. One of these days, he'll hear a bang rather than the click of the hammer coming down on an empty chamber.  


Powers: 

• A Man Reforged: After his traumatic ordeal, Mike was outfitted with several mechanical replacements and enhancements to compensate for his loss limbs and organs.
  • Kickstart My Heart: All of his augments are powered by an artificial heart. While it is extremely powerful and capable of lasting three days on a single charge (for regular day to day life) Mike must keep a careful eye on how much energy he expends after exerting himself. When in a battle that forces him to fight at his hardest, the battery can last ten hours before all non essential systems are shut down and the battery reaches a critical low. If this occurs, he's essentially an extremely expensive paperweight.  
  
  
  • Peekaboo: In order to ensure he never forgets to check his charge, Mike has been outfitted with a replacement to his right eye. Under normal circumstances, it can only by noticed when directly face to face someone when not active. Once activated, this changes. The iris flashes from dark brown to bright blue. Everything he sees from that point on is recorded and stored in a secured facility. Per his amended contract, Mike is required to activate this particular feature while on official business. They do allow him a little leeway, though. He takes advantage of it.
    • It's Dark in Here: He can't see in pitch black darkness, but the eye will enhance readily available sources of light to allow limited sight.
    
    
    • Hot and Bothered: Thermal vision in order to see if anyone with a heat signature is hiding somewhere.
    
    
    • Heads Up!: This particular feature allows him to bring up information about his systems, run diagnostics, and scan persons of interest while bringing up any information his secret clearance allows.
    
    
  
  
  • Gun Show: Thanks to the kind eggheads who designed such beautiful tech, Mike was gifted two of the most high tech arms money could buy. They are just as functional as the organic type, but have a few extras in order to spice him up just a little bit.
  • Alley Oop!: While Mike certainly isn't capable of picking up a car and throwing it at someone, his arms are capable of supporting 500 pounds with minimal strain. This maxes out at 2000 pounds per arm, and when he attempts to surpass this level, they fail to prevent damage before rebooting. If this happens in the middle of a fight, his arms will be completely useless for the next 3 minutes.

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• Gimme Shelter: Both arms contain a quarter shield that, when combined with his legs in a crouched position, form a shield 4 meet in diameter. This shield can take quite a beating before breaking. He uses the sharp edges to enhance both offence and defense in close quarters. They're only 1/4 as effective when segmented.

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• • For That Itch You Can't Scratch: Each arm can rotate a full 360 degrees at the wrists, elbows, and shoulders. It has limited practical applications, but he can get quite creative.
  
  
  • BZZZZZZZT: For a completely nonlethal takedown, Mike can press a palm against someone and deliver a debilitating shock to their system. The average human will be immediately incapacitated, but he can increase the intensity for Neos with a thick skin. This has five levels, each named by Mike himself: "Fall down", "Stay down", "He's not staying down", "Okay, now he's down", and "I'm just gonna shoot him after this one."
    
  
  
  • Wait, I Have Swords?: No. No you don't.
  
  
  • But I Do Have This!: If completely backed against the wall, Mike can fuse both arms together at the wrists and fire exactly one plasma bolt. This will deplete any available power, and send him right into critical mode. If not plugged up within two minutes, his heart will stop.
  
  
  • That Sucks!: Don't cut me off! This bolt is capable of melting through steel like a hot knife through butter. It's in your best interest to not get hit. Seriously.
  
  
• Look At Them LEGS!: Attached directly three inches above where his knees used to be are two, state of the art mechanical replacements. At maximum performance, Mike can achieve speeds of 30 mph at full sprint. This isn't easy, however, because his hips and thighs are still very much human.
  • Jumpman: He can leap 5 feet in the air with one leg. 10 with both. It's not that impressive, honestly.
  
  
  • F*ck You Too!: Remember that shield thing? Connects at the knees. Strong stuff.
  
  
  • Ass to Grass: The legs themselves are just as durable as his arms. Since the thighs they're attached to are human, he can tear a muscle if he tries to max them out on his own.
  
  
• Eat Your Wheaties: Considering the sheer amount of wiring and metal they needed to outfit him with, Mike received an enhancement to his skeleton. While the bones are now several times more stronger after being infused with a steel/titanium alloy to support the weight of his new toys, the organs they protect are still very much his.

Abilities: (What is your character able to do?)

• Military Training: Over the eight years Mike spent in active duty, he has been trained extensively. Paired with his several combat tours and true leadership experience, it's quite apparent why Raz used some of her influence to get him back in the fight.
  
  
• Bang Bang, You're Dead: If it has a trigger, chances are that Mike is fully capable of stacking bodies once it's in his hands. While he isn't anywhere close to the super soldiers when it comes to their training, he's still a cut above the rest. The phrase, "Almost as good as their worst shooter" is a perfect example of this. If they could hit one hundred targets in a row, Mike could hit 80. Long distance, moving targets, low light, shoot and move. He could do all of it with a nasty hangover. In the event that you find yourself on the wrong end of his boomstick, pray that your skin is hard enough to save you. Chances are, he won't miss.

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• Hit Me Harder: After everything he's been through so far, whatever you hit him with will never come close to the worst pain possible. Some call it stupidity, other say he likes to get hurt. To him, it's just pure willpower. No matter how much he's beaten down, or how tired he is, Mike will find a way to get back on his feet. If his legs are destroyed, he'll crawl. If the arms are crushed, he'll dig his chin into the ground and crawl towards who, or what, put him in such a sorry state. Nothing short of being killed will keep him pursuing his mark

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• Come A Little Closer: Mike absolutely thrives in close quarter encounters. Whether it be his time fighting in the alleyway, or formal combat training, he'll relish in the feeling of beating someone into the ground. Years of experience hardened his mind and body to the harsh nature of getting someone's blood on his hands. Since the only person willing to spar with him is Raz, he's definitely tired of losing fist fights. The thought of getting a win after going 0 out of 100? It makes his mouth water.

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• KNIFE FIGHT!: If you thought he was good with his hands, you should see him with a knife. Once Mike is able to get his hands on a short blade, his fighting style begins to look more like dancing. Every movement is fluid, and connects flawlessly no mater what position he's in. Combine that with his proficiency at putting people on their backs, you'll find yourself with a few extra pockets.

[/ul]Weapons/Equipment: (Do they use any gadgets or other equipment?)

• PHOBIA Special Operator Power Armor (Malefic):
• Mike's pride and joy. A specially designed suit of power armor built specifically for him. While completely capable on his own, the prospect of fighting Mike in while fully suited up is enough to terrify just about anyone. Thermo regulated, perfectly form fitting beneath the metal, and powered by a fusion battery much stronger than the one in his chest. Once he plugs himself into this, everything about him is increased by a factor of 10. His speed, precision, strength, durability, endurance, all while feeling like a second set of skin. Unfortunately, he's only allowed to wear it on official business. Then again, it practically screams, "Make sure you kill me first." In order to prevent a meltdown, this suit is grounded against electric shocks and shielded from EMP (standard military procedure). Good thing, too. After all, his heart would stop. That wouldn't be good.

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• Break it Down: Costs a lot in terms of money and manpower to keep this suit fully operational. Like all armor, it's weakest at the joints, and with how reckless Mike is once the suit is on, it spends all of its time being maintained while he's not wearing it. 

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• Can't Hide From Me: The HUD within his helmet is like a bigger and better version of what he has in his eye. Capable of honing in on a fly at 100 yards with no issue, seeing in pitch darkness, thermal imagery, flashbang protection and even noise dampening. If it's loud enough to shatter glass, the suit can key in and keep his eardrums from bursting.

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• OVERDRIVE: At risk of overloading the systems keeping him alive, Mike can overclock the systems within this suit and turn himself into an absolute juggernaut. When activated, everything increases by 100, allowing him to charge head first into the fray against something capable of leveling cities with an errant sneeze. This can only be kept up for 30 seconds before the battery is completely depleted, rendering his suit useless. If whatever Mike threw himself at isn't dead, he's completely at their mercy.

[/ul][/ul]History:

Mike spent the majority of his life in a broken home, the odor of hard liquor and cigarette smoke filling his nostrils. His father was a decent, hard working man. But sometimes the stress of a long work day and an almost non-existent sex life lead him to pick up the bottle, and once the bottle was empty all hell broke loose. Even at midnight, Damien, his younger brother, would be picking shards of broken glass from his older brothers bleeding back. They never called the police, though. Always felt that it was the way things were supposed to be... It was the only thing they knew. As soon as the old bastard stumbled in the house playtime was over. Everyone would retreat to their rooms for the night, Mike would always make sure his frail little brother would sleep in the same bed as him, holding him tight to quell the impending sobs of fear. So much as an awkward glance would piss the drunkard off.

At fourteen years old Mike wanted to have a life of his own, he did not want to be bothered by the problems of his little brother, or the problems of anyone. He left early in the morning and didn't return until late at night, and the first few times were just fine. But the third night is where the atmosphere changed Mike came to notice that his little brother had significantly more bruises than an average afternoon of wrestling with his older brother. The questioning turned into more of an interrogation until Mike realized that without his being there, his brother became the focus of malicious intent. He usually checked in, but only to see if Damien was alright like a good big brother should and the one time he didn't, the one time he decided to have more fun, would be the last time he saw his little brother smile.

Move ahead one day. Same routine, same old story, Mike ruffled Damien's hair before disappearing. Damien worried, as usual and began to panic once Mike did not come back for the check-in. His father would rise up, the alcohol still commanding his large workers body, grab the half empty beer bottle and slam it upon Damien's head. Unlike other times he cried out in pain while his mother looked on, indifferent like she always did. The loud cry enraged the man and sent him into a frenzy. He slapped Damien around and hurled any object he could find at him, but instead of finding a book or bottle like usual, his clumsy hands found a knife. Mike unlocked the door shortly after the knife was thrown and connected with his little brothers chest, puncturing the aorta. Damien hit the ground without uttering a single word and began to bleed out. Their father laughed and told him to quit faking, but the realization of what just happened sobered him instantly. With a roar Mike charged at his father with a rage that he had never felt before and slammed into the old man with all of his weight. The force, combined with his sluggish, addled state was strong enough to tumble through the glass window and send him down six stories. He couldn't even scream since the wind was forced right from his lungs.

Without even batting an eye, Mike rushed to the near colorless body little brother and cradled his head in his arms, the same way a mother would hold her baby for the first time and whispered small nothings to him. "Don't fall asleep, bro... I'm right here." or "Everything is going to be okay." but these were unintentional lies. Damien smiled at him and weakly reached up to stroke Mike's face, whispering 'I know it will.' before he went into shock, passing shortly after.

The next few years after that horrific event were a blur to Mike as he quickly moved from place to place, doing anything he could to get by. He'd steal vehicles and chop them down to their bare components to sell as scrap, he'd sell drugs for the local gangs, hell he'd even sell himself once or twice to make that extra buck. When he hit the bottom, nothing was too low. Nothing was too hard or demeaning when all that mattered was survival. But just when things seemed like they would never get better, somebody offered him a way out of the Sh*t. And that way was to fight.

The young man was no stranger to such things. After all, when you slung dope or committed grand theft, people tended to take notice. Enforcers from rival gangs would try to extort him for cash or vengeful victims of his sticky fingers would send somebody outside of the law to put a bit of pain in his body. Sure, he had his ass kicked several times but all that did was make him hardier, more resistant to pain. It eradicated a fear that most young fighters had before stepping into the ring; the fear of taking a punch.

Now, the fights that his handler organized were in no way professional. They were always in makeshift rings built in abandoned buildings or improvised in empty alleyways. Much like the fights in the street, there weren't any rules. If there was a loose brick in the wall, he pulled it out and smashed it over his opponent's head. If there was a bottle laying about, he'd do the same thing. There was no such thing as fair or unfair, only victory. And victory meant money.

This cycle continued for several more years until the sixteen year old nobody became a twenty year old force to be reckoned with in the underground fighting scene. Nicknamed "Malefic Mike" for how merciless he was once the bell rang, Mike would dance anyone willing to challenge him. Day after day he would fight, win, and get paid. Fight, win, get paid. Eventually the lucrative business brought even seedier parties than the usual scum who attended big fights. And on one night as Mike recovered from his most recent battle, he was approached with an offer; one that would change everything.

Apparently, someone a little different had been keeping track of the young upstart for quite some time. She watched Mike as he fought,
admiring how he'd do anything possible to ensure he came out on top. To her, he was exactly the kind of person the government would need on their side. 

While there were certainly a few rough edges that needed to be polished off before he was completely ready, she gave Mike the chance to become something more than a toy who fought for the amusement of criminals and gangsters. She told him stories about how there were things much bigger, and more dangerous in the world than a drugged up psychopath, or thug with a gun pressed to his victim's forehead. People with the ability to wipe out entire cities with the flick of their wrist, or shrug off gunfire like it was a minor inconvenience. These types were a threat to everyone in the world, and her superiors needed able bodied men and women who were willing to charge into the thick of it all in order to keep those they held dear safe. 

Food, shelter, training, structure, and money. All of it could be his if he took the deal. Mike was a little skeptical at first, but anything would be better than where he was at the moment.

If only he knew what she kept from him before signing that dotted line.

During the ten months of pure hell that was his indoctrination, Mike soon showed that he was certainly worth looking over his troubled past. No matter what they threw at him, he tried his hardest to press through despite being completely sapped of energy. He proved himself a true leader among the recruits, and even a few of the instructors gained a healthy respect for his work ethic. He was a man with nothing to lose, and everything to gain by doing whatever they told him. While he still maintained a flippant attitude that needed correcting, they had no doubt that the right choice was made.

After successfully graduating the program, Mike was separated from the rest and briefed on his new orders. He'd be sent to support the best damn fighter they had to offer. A G1 Super Solder called 'Hellhound'. 

Mike's introduction to his new superior was... Different. 

The moment he had arrived, he watched as she systematically broke down every other person before her in a matter of seconds. All it took for her was one punch to the jaw, a sweep of the leg, a twist of the arm, and they tapped. Naturally, he took his place at the back of the line and waited patiently as she made her way through each once of him until, finally, it was his turn.

He lasted two minutes, and that was just her toying with him.

While that seemed like a short bout compared to how he used to fight, Mike managed to last longer than everyone else that stepped up to challenge her. She earned his respect, and he, once again, separated himself from the rest. By the time they were called up for his first mission with her, she managed to stamp out any weakness left in his body.

Over the course of six years, wherever Hellhound went, Mike followed close behind. She was a consummate professional, and even though she was a tank in her own right, she couldn't handle everything on her own. That's where Mike came in. 

Unfortunately, sometimes things can go very wrong.

It was supposed to be a quick job. Go in, slay some bodies, be back for evening chow. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am. 

But the moment their boots hit the ground, the situation took a turn for the worst. Apparently, whatever they were supposed to be eliminating managed to grow several times in size and power while they were en route. Most of their squad was absolutely decimated in the ensuing battle. Some were crushed underfoot, others torn to shreds by grotesque tendrils made of only God knows what. No matter what they did, it only got stronger as time went by. Eventually, exhaustion got the best of him, and he paid dearly.

While Mike turned his attention to a wounded comrade, a tendril managed to snake its way around his leg and jerk him upwards into the air. The sudden whiplash slammed his head against the pavement, knocking him for a loop. In order to ensure he couldn't fight back, the creature whipped him into the ground several more times until he saw double. Every time he tried to thrash or defends himself, the cycle repeated until there wasn't a bit of energy left. He dangled there, completely helpless and screaming for his life as he was pulled toward the creature's open maw. What followed next was the most painful thing he'd ever experience.

The beast's saliva slipped into every joint of his armor, and slowly degraded the metal until it flaked off of his body, leaving him completely exposed. From there, it began to digest. First his clothes, then his flesh. Mike screamed in pure agony as the acids ate away at him. He could feel every inch of his body being melted away. Soft tissue, muscle and bone. Every exposed bit bubbled and hissed in a reaction.

Before the process could finish, however, the beast ushered a shrill shriek, followed by silence. The young man lay in wait for what felt like hours until a bright light nearly blinded him, and felt a strong grip on what used to be his left arm. Shortly after that, nothing.

They told him he'd never fight again. The digestive juices damaged him beyond conventional medicine, and he was set to be discharged from service shortly after recovering enough to be sent home. He was devastated. After everything he had done, everything he had sacrificed, they decided to give up on him. Resigning to his fate, Mike accepted the news and bit his tongue, knowing that it would be pointless to argue. Unbeknownst to him, someone with quite a bit of pull managed to convince the top brass that he was too much of an asset to be let go. There was more to the government than he had previously known, and they were capable of bringing him back to active duty better than he was before being wounded. He was told that the process would most likely kill him due to shock, but he signed the paper anyway.

What came after was the second most painful thing he'd ever go through.

It took months of surgery, rehabilitation, and rest to fully wire and enhance his body so it wouldn't immediately reject the changes. Once everything was said and done, it was like he hadn't lost anything. Though there wasn't any feeling in his new additions. It took quite some time for Mike to adjust to his new features.

Once that was said and done, he was returned to the field. Once again, he was specifically requested by the same person who lobbied to have him repaired rather than rejected. Hellhound. It wasn't too much of a surprise, considering all that they had been through together. He lived the longest out of anyone assigned to her team, showed uncommon valor and self sacrifice for his brothers and sisters. On top of that, she was the only person alive able to keep him completely in line when necessary. Mike still pushes the boundaries, and bickers back and forth on a regular basis. The loud little brother, always trying to get on the nerves of his strict and almost domineering older sister. 

He's currently stationed in New York City.

God help them.




Weaknesses: (What are their weaknesses? Please include at least one physical weakness, personality flaw and fear.)
Mental:

• The Enemy Inside: Mike, no matter what he says, isn't all there. He's been through hell. He's seen his brothers and sisters ripped to pieces before his very eyes and it definitely shows despite his best attempts. There are nights he can't sleep because the horror forces him to stay awake. Too proud to ask for help, yet far too weak to handle it all on his own.

• Staring Down the Barrel of a 45: Suicidal tendencies with several unsuccessful attempts. It's only a matter of time before he does it right.

• Whiskey Whispers: Mike is almost always drunk, or drinking. Sometimes it has a negative effect on his performance, but he adamantly refuses to be labeled as a 'psych risk' by seeking medical help for his personal demons. He'd rather find happiness at the bottom of a bottle of Jameson.

• Brilliant, But Lazy: While Mike is fully capable of being the golden boy or pet project, he finds no satisfaction out of kissing the ass of some shiny collar who would fall out before walking a mile in his shoes. The only thing keeping him from several promotions is his flippant attitude. Nonrec, Page 11, NJP. Just another page in his SRB.

• But... They're Just A Kid: Mike has a soft spot for children. Even if specifically sent to take down a child, he'll do everything in his power to let them escape. He'll even start a fight with a member of his squad to prevent them from receiving any harm. 

• I Got You, You Got Me: He's loyal to a fault. Save his ass, he'll save yours. Stab him in the back, find a target on yours. There is no in between.

• Quit F*ckin' Starin': Mike is not normal, you don't have to remind him. He goes to great lengths to hide the fact he's more metal than man. Long sleeves, heavy boots, synthflesh glove inserts. Poking fun about this hits a very sore spot. While he'll never show how much it bothers him, it definitely has an effect.

Other Information: (Anything else you would like to add?)

• Your Worst Nightmare: Member of the special operations team, PHOBIA (Paladins Hunting Outsiders, Beasts, Intruders and Aliens). He's seen, fought, captured, or killed more Neos than he can count. Nothing personal, though. It's just what pays the bills.

• Down on Skid Row: Mike absolutely loves musicals. Don't tell anyone about that.

• Papa Wolf: Don't mess with his guys. You can mess with him all you want, and he'll laugh it off. But if anyone he cares about is so much as looked at the wrong way, he'll start a fight.

• I'm Sorry, What?: Has a tendency to flat out ignore anyone when he doesn't want to be bothered. At this point, though, they've invested far too much money into him. So most times, he gets away with it.

OOC Information

OOC Name: Elijah

Face Claim: Michael Jai White